


Small Mercies

by jyorraku



Category: Nikita (TV 2010)
Genre: Angst, Crossing Timelines, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-27
Updated: 2011-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-15 22:05:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jyorraku/pseuds/jyorraku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael does what Nikita can't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Mercies

These days it seemed all they did was run and keep running. The team split up, after evacuating a warehouse full of elderly into the biggest Mac truck they could find. As the best sharp shooters, Michael and Nikita were on foot, covering the evac point until Alex and Owen safely drove off with the dozen or so grandmas and grandpas. They had their own transportation, but all the noise from the rescue had attracted a swarm of walkers. The living dead, zombies from horror films come to life, were taking over the world, one noxious and lethal bite at a time.

Michael and Nikita ran, shot, and detonated decoys. She had a dozen plan Bs and he knew the exact moments to execute them. Soon they were in the clear of a small alley, with a gassed up car just around the corner. Everything was going to plan.

"Nikita."

She turned, her breath short. "Michael, hurry."

He didn't stir. His immobility drew her attention to a movement in his hand. A trickle of red dripped from his fingertips onto the black pavement. Drip. Drip.

"No," she breathed, her head buzzing. She moved towards him.

He raised his gun at her. He never thought he would have to do that again, not since the world ended. "Stay away."

"It's probably just a scratch." It was amazing, how rational she sounded. Not desperate. Not going out of her fucking mind at all.

Michael squeezed his eyes shut for a long second. The wound behind his neck throbbed. He had blown the walker's head straight off, but not before it got a chance to spread the contagion to him. There was no cure and he wasn't about to become one of them. "You know what you have to do, Nikita."

Nikita was trembling in earnest now. "I can't. You know I can't." She could barely keep a steady grip on her gun, much less do what he asked.

"You did it once before. Just aim higher."

"That was different!"

Michael smiled grimly. "Then turn around. Turn around," he coaxed softly.

Her feet started turning on their own because subconsciously she knew she couldn't bear it. Her chest ached. The air was gross and heavy in her lungs and her heart was rioting inside of her. "Please don't do this. We'll find help, please. Please. Please." She kept chanting 'please' even as tears slipped from her eyes, already in mourning.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you take down Division, Nikita." It sounded ridiculous, especially now, but he had to say it. "This, I can do."

The safety clicked. Her breath hitched.

In the end, he was still about her.

"Don't look back."

Bang.


End file.
